


Candy From Strangers

by swtalmnd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frottage, M/M, underage (14)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: Sirius sees Neville studying out by the forest, and uses Padfoot to lure him into a friendship, and more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE don't read this if the underage 14yo character bothers you! Seriously, just.. go read something else. It's a big archive.
> 
> Originally written in 2009 for Santa's Lap.

Whenever Sirius sees the kid, he wishes he could paint. He wants to capture those lush, boyish curves, round and full and so very soft. He knows this makes him a dirty old man in so many ways, but he's already been in Azkaban and somehow that makes it all right for him to commit these little sins in his mind. The boy is only fourteen, far too young for the things that Sirius and Padfoot alike think when they see him sitting alone in the grass, revising or writing essays or just admiring the sky.

Padfoot gives in one chilly October evening at dusk, when the dinner bell has tolled and the kid is still out there, lying on his back in the growing dimness and staring into nothing. He bounds over, black tail and red cock both wagging in enthusiastic greeting, and licks the boy's round face. He tastes just like Sirius imagined, salty and sweet and tempting. Padfoot wags his tail and lays down, hips shifting in an attempt not to look quite so much like the horny old dog he is.

The boy laughs and sits up and scratches, yes, just there, right behind his ears. "Where did you come from, then?" he says quietly, glancing around with an almost paranoid air to see if Padfoot's theoretical owner was nearby.

Padfoot plays dumb, wags his tail gives his best puppy-dog eyes until the boy is soon laying next to him, fingers buried in the thick, black fur. "You're awfully nice," he says at one point. "I wish I knew your name. Mine's Neville, not that you care."

Sirius cares very much, and that night adds the name to the list of things he knows about the boy, going through his old journal entries and adding it in utterly random places, just for the joy of writing it. Neville. Neville. Neville.

Padfoot is careful always to leave in the same direction, and slowly this draws Neville out, until he's studying practically on the edge of the forest, well out of sight of the castle, hoping for his new friend to come running up. One day in April, with the last task of the Triwizard Tournament in sight and Sirius' excuses for being out here coming to an end with it, Sirius is brave and foolish and cleans himself up very carefully before wandering out of the forest as himself instead of his dog.

"Have you seen a dog around here?" he asks the wide-eyed boy. "Big, black, looks mean but you're in more danger of being licked to death?"

"Y-yes sir," stammers Neville, "He c-comes around here a lot."

"Seen him tonight, then?" Sirius asks, flopping down on the ground next to Neville. "Padfoot's been gone a few days now, longer than usual," he explains, careful to leave a safe distance between them, as much as he wants to fall upon the boy, to taste that skin with his human tongue, to hear those breathy little laughs with his normal ears. To make that heartbeat speed for entirely different reasons than a friendly tussle in the grass with a harmless dog.

"N-no, sir," says Neville, going very still at the sudden appearance of a strange adult.

"Ah, shame. Gryffindor, then?" says Sirius, motioning to the tie that Nev had untied completely, leaving the top two buttons of his shirt undone in a truly enticing manner. Sirius often wonders, with boys that age, if they ever understood how their burgeoning sexuality could affect others. He suspects not, at least in Neville's case. Few people understood the appeal of running their hands over soft, plump bodies, often least of all the possessors of said bodies. Peter had never understood why Sirius would choose him, and he nips that train of thought in the bud, instead listening to Neville's soft voice.

"Yessir," he replies. "Fourth year."

"It feels like forever since I was that age," says Sirius. "My name's Orion." Which isn't entirely a fib, as it's one of his names, at any rate, just not any of the infamous ones.

"N-neville," stammers the boy, and Sirius can almost follow the thoughts on his face, asking himself if it's a good idea to be talking to strangers in this day and age, this close to the forest.

Sirius nods. "You'd be Frank and Alice's boy, then?" he says, feeling a sinking guilt at using them for such a purpose. If it even works, if he'll have the chance to touch that lush body, to taste. He doesn't think he'd let himself try and fuck Neville, but maybe just blowing the boy would be enough, sucking that firm young prick that Padfoot has seen hard a time or two, in the way of being fourteen and male.

Sirius remembers embarrassingly inappropriate erections well, and is in fact well on his way to one of his own, not that Padfoot doesn't have them all the time around Neville. He smells so good to Padfoot, and Sirius wants that, too, to bury his face in Neville's hair and just inhale the scent of exotic plants and teenage boy.

"Y-you knew my p-parents?" says Neville, suddenly far more interested in him. He rolls onto his side, closer to Sirius, close enough to bring a whiff of that sun-drenched aroma drifting on the twilight air and up to Sirius' nose.

Sirius rolls, too, until they're facing one another and he can just see the family resemblance. "Back in school, yes, they were both a year above me. Be proud to see you here, in Gryffindor, I'd bet."

Neville blushes adorably, ducking his head at the idea of it. "Everyone says I'm a failure," he says quietly, an admission that made something ache in Sirius' chest.

"Nonsense. You've made it this far, haven't you?" Sirius replies, chucking Neville's shoulder in a friendly way that's not at all an excuse to feel young flesh give under his fingers.

"I... I suppose," says Neville, the red stain on his cheeks barely visible in the low light, and Sirius feels a flush of guilt that he has any motive at all other than making Neville smile that shy, surprised little smile.

"Padfoot obviously adores you, if he comes here a lot, and he's got excellent taste," says Sirius, with a note of finality as though that's all he needs to know on the subject, and it is in its own way. He has trouble reading as Padfoot but he'd got enough information stuffed into his fuzzy dog-brain to realize that Neville was often studying Herbology far above his level. He gestures to the book that Neville set aside earlier and says, "Growing things, giving life where there wasn't any, that's a talent not enough people value."

Neville's smile grows broader, bolder, and he says impishly, "How do you know I'm not reading it because I'm failing Herbology?" There's something in those eyes that makes Sirius realize his hand is still hovering restlessly, wanting to soothingly touch some part of a boy who probably wouldn't appreciate the sort of touches Sirius wants.

"I'm not so old I don't remember what a Fourth Year book looks like," says Sirius, shaking his head in a friendly manner, "And that's more in line for a NEWT project than anything." _Pus Plants in Potions and Preparations_ was the sort of thing one chose if one was planning on growing some sort of healing garden, which was what that Hufflepuff had done back when he was in Sixth Year and got in trouble when certain herbs kept going into students' pockets rather than to the Hospital Wing for medicinal use.

Neville grins and leans in just a touch, and it is all Sirius can do not to kiss him. "I've been helping Professor Sprout in Greenhouse Four in the mornings," he says conspiratorially, which just makes the urge to kiss him stronger. "And Gran says she'll get me something special for next year if I prove I can care for it."

Sirius rather wants to give him something special right now, and he swallows back a hundred offers, pushing forward the approving smile that was lurking behind them. "Hoping for something a bit more exotic than a Bubotuber?"

"Exactly right, there's a few I've been checking out," says Neville, "Pus Plants are notoriously hard to care for, so it'd be a way to impress Professor Sprout with my responsibility, if I can keep something like that alive and happy."

"I've no doubt you will," says Sirius. The conversation continues in that vein, Sirius trying to dredge up his old Herbology and Neville just hungry for someone to like him for who he is. Despite the occasional wayward thoughts, Sirius enjoys their discussion for itself, pulling him away from his despair and out of his doggie shell, and helping to remind him of the charming man he'd been.

Neville certainly seems charmed, and he doesn't notice the time passing until dusk has turned almost completely to night. "Oh no, I'll miss dinner!" he says suddenly, scrambling to gather his things. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Orion, but I've got to go!"

Sirius chuckles. "It's fine, lad, go on. I'd best get back to looking for Padfoot, anyway."

They part with a reluctance that warms Sirius in different places than the heat he feels at the sight of Neville's plush rear retreating toward the castle, and Sirius ambles back into the woods with his heart lighter than the clouds floating overhead.

It takes him three hours of hunting to find what he's looking for, but a pot swiped from a pile outside Greenhouse Three allows him to present his gift in style. He's carrying it with a grin and dirty hands, gratified to see Neville out by the edge of the forest once again. "Neville, there you are, lad," he says, as though he's looked before and just missed him. "I trust you got your dinner?"

Neville grins and it nearly stops Sirius' heart to see. "Oh, yeah, I snuck in right before pudding. Hey, is that a Lubricating Lily?"

Sirius nods, ducking his head as a wave of shyness comes over him, and wonders why there's not more shame mixed in, for what he wants to do. "I found it on the property and I thought you might like it. I know it's not properly a Pus Plant, but..."

"It's great," says Neville, his smile wide and contagious. When he slips his finger into the opening to gather some of the slick dew inside, Sirius nearly moans. "Wow, this stuff really is the best." Neville is rubbing it between his fingers, and Sirius can only think that he will go tonight to his bed and rub it on his eager young cock.

Sirius' cock is feeling pretty eager right now, too, and the guilt seems distant compared to the sight of Neville carefully tasting the slick nectar. "Is it to your liking?" he asks, letting a bit of lewdness creep into his voice. It would be normal, he hopes, to make such jokes upon the occasion of such a gift.

Neville flushes. "It's brilliant, Orion, thank you," he says. "Sit down, I brought us a snack this time."

That brings the guilt coming back, but it's not so bad that he doesn't also melt a bit under the kindness. "Have you been feeding Padfoot, too?" he asks teasingly. "Maybe that's why the old dog keeps coming back." He knows that, tomorrow or the next day, he'll have to forego this human contact to send Padfoot back out, to reassure the boy and keep up appearances.

"Naah, he just likes belly rubs," says Neville, laying out a Hogwarts napkin with a veritable feast on it, at least to Sirius' starved senses. "You seemed a bit hungrier than him, though... I mean..." Neville looks up, clearly worried he's given offense somehow.

"I do get peckish this time of night, I won't lie," says Sirius, finally laying down on the grass. "I live alone, and my cooking's nothing at all to anticipate." Rats and squirrels, when he can catch the little buggers, downed raw by Padfoot and still not enough to keep his belly happy. He snags a chicken leg and takes a bite, unable to hold in the little noise of pleasure at the taste. "Hogwarts always did know how to feed its boys."

Neville giggles, and pulls out a flagon of juice as well. "We'll have to share, I almost got caught trying to nick some cups." He takes a demonstrative swig of the liquid and wipes his mouth haphazardly, leaving a smear of orange on one side. "I hope that's okay?"

"S'brilliant," says Sirius around a mouthful of chicken. 

They eat in silence for a bit, Neville leaving him the lion's share of the food, and soon enough Sirius is laying on his back, staring at the sky and feeling his belly cope with the strange idea of being full for the first time in what seems forever. "Really brilliant, thank you, Neville," he says, rolling back and nearly colliding with Neville, who'd been reaching to snag the last biscuit.

The pause lasts longer than Sirius expects, and it stills his breath to see something hot in Neville's eyes, something that echoes the heat in himself. "Y-you're w-w-welcome," Neville stammers, bringing the biscuit up to his mouth without properly moving back.

Sirius tries to hold in the hungry sound that's rising up in him, but instead he finds himself leaning in, licking a crumb off one cheek. Neville's skin is soft as a peach, tender and salty and Sirius wants more like he's never wanted anything except perhaps his freedom. "Neville," he says softly, looking up at Neville's stunned face.

"O-orion?" Neville squeaks. The biscuit drops back to the napkin between them, and then those soft, wet lips are touching Sirius' in a clumsy, greedy kiss. It takes Sirius a moment to remember how kissing is supposed to go, but then he smoothes things out, one hand stroking the soft, warm flesh of Neville's cheek.

"Neville, I... you're so young, but I want..." Sirius is blushing, he knows it, but it doesn't stop his hand from travelling down, over Neville's shoulder to rest on his hip, which seems so far away after the closeness of their mouths.

"Y-you do? R-r-really? I mean, I'm just... N-n-no one wants me," says Neville, but his voice holds the longing for it to be true.

"I do very much, I've always liked," Sirius ducks his head, hand moving toward Neville's round belly, "lush boys."

Sirius can see the suspicion crossing Neville's features, adding up all their conversations and wondering if this hadn't been Sirius' intention all along. "Did you send Padfoot out to make friends 'cos I'm... lush?" he asks, reluctant.

Sirius doesn't want to break the bubble of their idyll, either, so he shakes his head. "Padfoot and I, we're both here because we like you. You're kind and smart and," Sirius shrugs, "lush, but not just that."

"So, it, it's like when someone likes a girl at first because she's pretty, but later because she's nice?" asks Neville hopefully, and Sirius wants to kiss him all over again just for that.

"It's just like that," says Sirius, and then he does kiss him, soft and chaste and oh so sweet. "Plus, Padfoot thinks you smell nice," he adds, blushing because he does, too, human Sirius and doggie Padfoot in perfect agreement for once.

Neville giggles and it's young and innocent and adorable, and Sirius feels another stab of guilt.

"I'm old enough to be your father, you know," says Sirius suddenly, other parts of him protesting mightily at the reminder. Sirius rarely feels as old as he is, too many years lost to the fog and despair of Azkaban.

Neville surprises him by making a scoffing noise and moving in for another kiss, clumsy and eager. "I like that you're older," he says shyly.

Sirius lets his hand wander over Neville's warm flank and round belly, but nowhere else, not just yet. "Neville, would you like to be mine tonight?" he asks, eyes sliding over toward the suggestive flower. He'd known why he was bringing it, really, even if he tells himself it was because he knew Neville would like it.

There are other things he's seen in the woods he knows Neville will like, after all.

Neville's eyes follow his and a blush stains those round cheeks, and Sirius bites his lip, worried he's gone too fast, to far. "You'll come back? E-even after?"

It breaks Sirius' heart that this is Neville's worry, even though it's legitimate. Sirius is, after all, some stranger who comes out of the woods, not a fellow student or anyone Neville could come find, should he play the cad. Fortunately for them both, he has no intention of going anywhere until the year is up and Harry is safe. "I'll come back every night if you like, I'll even..." The idea seems foolish at first, but Sirius' mouth moves on before his brain can protest. "I'll even show you a secret."

Neville's got that suspicious look again, but Sirius can tell he's also intrigued. "What sort of secret?"

Sirius grins. "A really secret one," he says with a laugh. "I promise, it's got nothing to do with the kissing parts, it's just," he pauses, trying to think of how to put it. "It's just a special thing that I want to share with you."

"Really?" says Neville, and it hurts a little to think that no one has entrusted this boy with secrets before, or friendship.

"Really," assures Sirius, standing and offering Neville his hand.

Neville smiles and he looks excited and breathless and young for a moment, and then he scrambles up and steals a kiss before they both bend to gather up their things. It's not very far to the edge of the woods, and Sirius shows him a little clearing only a few yards in, screened from the prying eyes of Hogwarts by the thinnest layer of tree and branch.

Once Neville has laid out the blanket, complete with naughty flower, Sirius gathers up his courage. "Now for the secret." Sirius wants to say something more, to plead with Neville not to be angry, but instead he just lets himself melt away until he's simple and eager, nothing but pure doggy love for Neville left in his brain. His tail wags a million miles an hour, and his puppy eyes are wide and hopeful as he waits for Neville's reaction.

Padfoot's relieved when Neville laughs. "You, you're... _You're_ Padfoot!" Neville declares, once he's caught his breath. "That's very naughty indeed, then," he says, kneeling down to accept doggie kisses and scratch behind ears as though he doesn't know there's a dirty old man hiding inside the innocent animal.

Sirius waits a few breaths and then changes back, kissing Neville with his human mouth though it's rather spoilt by the doggy slobber coating Neville's face. "You won't tell, will you?" he asks, trying not to let the fear bleed through, that he'll be caught and hurt and it'll all be for naught.

Neville shakes his head, wiping his face off with his sleeve. "I won't tell, I hear the fine for being unregistered is pretty severe."

Sirius barks out a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound too bitter when he replies, "Thank you." He shuts himself up by kissing Neville again, though he does wipe his own mouth first.

And then somehow they've sunk down onto the blanket together and Neville's curious hands are finding all the ways into Sirius' clothing, and Sirius is beginning to wonder just who is seducing who here. And then it doesn't matter, because Sirius' hands have a mind of their own, too, and he's distracted by the feeling of Neville's soft, luscious body under him, and the way Neville looks all spread out on the blanket. Sunlight dapples over his skin, moon-pale on his belly but tanned on his face and arms from working in his beloved Greenhouses, or so Sirius assumes. He's round and pink and sweetly perfect, and the erection rising up rosy and eager between his legs banishes the last of Sirius' guilt.

"You're perfect," whispers Sirius, running his hand over Neville's belly with the same fascination he's always had for such softness.

"You... You really mean it?" asks Neville shyly, hands still working to push away the last of Sirius' clothing, to reveal the jutting hipbones, the concave stomach, the strange tattoos.

Sirius nods, blushingly self-conscious about his own faults. "I've always loved bigger boys, even when I was your age," he said. Especially at Neville's age, he thinks, and he tries to hide that flash of, well, whatever the opposite of nostalgia is; he doesn't want Neville to see him resenting the past. "I love how soft and warm you are," he says, snuggling up, tangling his long limbs around Neville like rose canes wrapping around a lush oak.

"I like how you are, all angles and interesting bits," says Neville, and then he adds shyly, "I like this, us together."

Sirius kisses him, if only to forestall more foolish talking, and then loses himself in the moment again. Their bodies are so very good together, and somehow they find themselves in a position that their cocks can kiss and rub just as their mouths are doing, warm and wet and oh so good. Sirius finds enough brain cells somewhere to dip his fingers in the flower and transfer that delightful slipperiness to their cocks, to wrap his hand around them both and stroke as they thrust.

Sirius drinks the sounds of Neville's pleasure in their kisses, his own voice too long trained to silence to let more than a few harsh gasps escape. Neville doesn't seem to mind, making up for it by moaning all the louder, wrapping his legs around Sirius' and shuddering as he lets himself go. Sirius is concentrating so hard on memorising Neville's face in ecstasy that his own release catches him off-guard and he lets out a barking cry as he spills, too, and then goes all warm and boneless on top of Neville.

Neville grins. "I think we should plant it here," he says, gesturing to the Lubricating Lily. "Then we'll have it whenever we want."

Sirius feels something warm spark in his chest, the glow of being really, truly wanted, for the first time in what feels like forever. "I think that's a brilliant idea," he says softly, not wanting to speak so loudly that the Fates hear and take this, too, away from him. He steals another kiss, which leads to another, and soon enough neither of them is thinking of anything beyond the moment, which is just fine with both Sirius and Padfoot.

The future, Sirius thinks as he lazily licks at a particularly sensitive bit of Neville's skin, will come soon enough.


End file.
